User talk:RoxasMoogle
I came a bit when I saw this Welcome Hi, welcome to Magia Caedo Wiki! Thanks for your edit to the Characters page. Please leave a message on my talk page if I can help with anything! -- 1tk1 (Talk) 15:38, July 23, 2010 Guide to IV breeding A Short Story Tales from the Mauve Family By RoxasMoogle I find myself walking home alone again. The path is so familiar is sickens me sometimes, it’s the same every darn day. But something is different this time; the air seems to be…charged, a bit like the feeling you get before a thunderstorm begins. As I advance on the path I notice something, it looks like a wreck. I tread off the path and walk towards the heap of metal: some broken down Ford Ranger, it looks pretty decrepit. Its front half has been bashed in; it looks like it just got hit by a bulldozer. It lies a couple feet off the road, and I don’t see anyone around it. I edge closer to it and peek inside it’s smashed in front window: Nothing’s inside of the cab, not even seats. I walk around the front and try the door, which opens with little effort. I decide to search the car; I’ve never seen anything like this before. After a few minutes I manage to find a few things stored in the glove department: a map of the state, Texas, a worn out note book, I don’t look inside it yet; it’s probably empty anyway, and a 22 caliber rifle shell. The bullet is surprising, but most people own guns in this area anyway. I take the notebook and the shell, leaving the map for the poor sap who managed to crash a truck in the middle of nowhere. Later that night I’m at home, sitting on my bed, trying to compose a decent excuse for not doing my homework. I’m surrounded by the contents of my backpack, which isn’t much. I open my textbook…then close it, I never liked geometry anyway. I look to my bedside table, at that bullet shell and the notebook, which I still haven’t opened. I lean over from my sea of homework, picking up the shell and turning it in my fingers. It looks pretty old; it’s rusted over and caked in dirt. I’m thinking about who might’ve left it when a voice breaks the silence of my mind “Are you working on your homework?” It’s my mother. I haven’t told her about the wreck yet, she’d just snap at me for taking that stuff anyway. “Yes Mother,” I call back, “I’m working on it now” No response. She probably wasn’t even listening for a response. I put the bullet down, reaching out once again to my table. I grab the notebook this time, a small leather-bound sketchpad labeled “Field notes”. I flip through the pages, which seem to have yellowed from age long ago. Contrary to my first thought, the pages are packed full words, a meticulous handwritten cursive. The occasional drawing is included; the author seemed to have a thing for weapons. I turn to a page in the middle, it’s packed to the brim in writing a begin to read September 22, (The year is illegible, I’m not sure whether it’s intentional or not) We ran into another one of those things today, that’s 3 in the past week. I’m not sure what attracts them to us, but James says it’s probably the smoke. The damned animal took us by surprise, it jumped onto Mathew’s back, but we got it off him before it did too much damage. It managed to tear a gash in his back though, but that healer bloke said he’ll be ok. I’m surprised we killed it at all, the only reason we were able to was because Leo has been on edge all day, and was carrying his knife with him when it attacked. James calls them Devastators, which is proving to be a fitting name. I’ll write again if there’s another attack, but with any luck we’ll reach the capital without safely. - Jonathan Mauve The entry ended there, and I don’t bother to read the rest. I immediately flip to the last page, checking for the end of Jonathan’s curious tale. To my relief there’s a brief message there, and I eagerly read it. About time you found us, Cameron. We’re awaiting your arrival. -Mathew Mauve I flip the final page, but nothing else is written there. This entry had a different author, it seems. But I don’t really care about the author; I have more important things to ponder now. My name is Cameron H Mauve. ﻿ A Brief essay on how much my school talent show sucked Talentless At first thought one might think that someone chickening out of a performance due to stage fright at the last second would be funny. After having seen that happen several times I can inform you with certainty that it is not. It’s just plain awkward. You see, today was my school talent show, and it was painful. I don’t want to say the performances were bad, they were great, but something about it just sucked. One would think hearing a surprisingly well orchestrated mix of banjo and electric guitar would be great, or that a near perfect performance of She-Wolf would be amazing, but something about it just didn’t click. I guess it just pains me too see these acts get screwed up in the middle by bad sound and lighting, I’m not quite sure. At least 5 acts were postponed due to “Technical Difficulties” and most of the rest restarted due to poor microphones. I suppose the improvised banter of the Marks and Noah were cool, and the original song by Kayla was touching but other than that it felt… stale. If I were to run the talent show things would be much different: We’d have great sound, better acts and not everything would be singing. I’ve been assured that talents come in many forms, and- provided my school was able to showcase those talents accurately- that list consists of the following List of Acceptable Talents: Singing Dancing Monologueing? That right folks, the entire show consisted of singing, dancing, and a comedy act. I suppose I’m just as young and naïve as the next guy, but I would assume there’s more to life than singing, dancing, and monologueing (which I’m being informed isn’t even a word). But this isn’t a rant; this is shoutout to all us talentless people. A shoutout to those of us who can’t sing or dance (or monologue for that matter). I like to believe that everyone is talented, regardless of what notes they can hit, or how they deliver a comedy act. This talent show inspired me, not to write a song or to learn to play an instrument, but to write this. So I ask you to join me in a talent show for the talentless, a show for us mundane people. I’ve even included a script, on how the show might go Generic Host 1: Hello folks, and welcome to Talentless, where we showcase the biggest and brightest rising stars with no real talent. Generic Host 2: That’s Right (Host 1), we’re gonna’ show you the best new anti-talents, from playing the harmonica, to writing with both hands, and even juggling large objects Generic Host 3: *Cheesy pun* Host 2: *Cheesy laughter* Now first up we have Ben, showing us how he can write with both hands Host 3: At the same time! comes up, holding up two pens. He begins to write some things on a piece of paper provided by Host 1. A few minutes later he leaves. Host 1: Wow, I’ve never seen anything like that before! Host 2: Me Neither! Host 3: Well next up is off, Looking up, he realizes that there is no crowd ''did…did the audience leave? ''Hosts let out a collective sigh, and leave the empty stage. Ben peeks his out from behind a curtain and scoffs at the empty auditorium END Alright, I’m the first to admit to my seemingly blatant lack of talent, but I would hope at least someone would stay. Moral of the Story: In all seriousness I really do think that talent show should be changed to encompass more talents, because if I have to hear another song by Miley Cyrus being sung by 5th graders, I think I might just explode. FIN Note from the Editor: I’m genuinely sorry if I have offended any of you, unless you were responsible for the bad microphones, I don’t care if you’re offended if you’re that guy. And Monologueing should be added to the dictionary as a verb. ﻿ The cockroach squeals at the first stroke of twilight. I B WATCHIN' U, BOI indeed